Constants
by Sinister Scribe
Summary: Just a fic to show that, despite many, many, MANY things being different, some things will always be the same. Probably the tamest thing i've ever written.


Constants

**Okies, sorry for having been missing for a while folks, but my laptop is doing the dead parrot sketch from Monty Python at the moment.**

**If it wasnae in the shop, it'd be pushing up daisies.**

**At the moment I think they're taking off the F1 key and refitting a new computer to it at the price it's bloody costing me. **

**Rasin-frassin….grumble.**

**Anyways, you have this little ditty to blame squarely on Scarlett Scribble. I was on the bus home from work tonight when I remembered a particularly horrifying conversation we'd had in which she had found an AU House MD story on adultfan and had proceeded to read it to me, despite my frenzied protests. **

**Either way, it got me to thinking about how some things are just the same no matter where you go. **

**Huddy being one of them. **

**Enjoy, this is just for fun, if you don't like…fuck off.**

**Don't own so don't sue btw. **

**Constants**

Doctor Lucas Cuddy strolled into Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching hospital, satchel slung over one broad shoulder, coffee cup in one manicured hand and a preoccupied expression on his sharp aquiline featured face. Tropical sea blue eyes scanned the folded paper in front of him. It was a smaller local edition, with a gaudy headline emblazoned across it in cheap print block capitols that were probably staining his fingers. He did not look up at the staff, but they parted for him anyway. He was difficult to miss in a deep red, sinfully tailored three piece suit. The waistcoat offset with peach lace and a salmon shirt that should have clashed horrifically but somehow managed not to. The nurses watched him pass by with barely constrained interest. He was, indeed, a man to watch. Tall, at just over six feet, sharp almost harsh features offset by a full mouth that spoke of drugging kisses and long sooty lashed eyes that could turn from boardroom to bedroom with a flick of a lid. Not to mention all that thick dark hair that was impeccably styled save for a lone curl that tumbled down over his forehead in a roguish superman sort of way.

Oh yes, the nurses watched him, but they weren't the only ones.

Cuddy, oblivious to the stares or feigning as much swept by them all, dumped his coat on his assistant and brushed into his office without so much as a passing glance at the scenery. He strode straight to the huge desk in his office and dumped his expensive leather satchel on it. Armani, an early birthday present, he liked it.

"You know, that man-bag makes you look like a rent-boy."

Cuddy's head came up and the coffee cup went down onto the desk. When dealing with this particular office infiltrator, it was always best to have at least one free hand.

"A cheap one."

His blue gaze traversed the distance between them and landed on the long lean frame of one Georgia House. She was splayed out on his armchair by the door so he wouldn't immediately see her upon striding in. Her long legs were propped on his table, Converse sneakers crossed one over the other, faded jeans clung to her, worn pale by age rather than design, a tight band tee shirt stretched its logo across her slim curves, a black fitted suit jacket was rumpled over her arms and an ebony cane with the silver lettering 'BITCHIN'' scrolled along its length hung from the tapered fingers of one hand. Her curling hair, dark with threads of steel through it, was tied back in a messy knot, like she had forgotten it was so long and had thrown it back there out of her way. Loose tendrils hung down over laser blue eyes, he happened to know that she cut herself, without a mirror, when it became necessary.

Repressing that shudder would be good right about now.

"And those trousers…" Here she let out a low wolf whistle. "Did you get them tailored at your local prison?"

Cuddy ignored the jibes and held up the paper. "Was this you?"

Negligent shrug.

"'Doctor Strikes Out Against "Time-waster" Patient'." He tossed the paper at her and it slid across the coffee table to bump against the sole of her shoe. "With Cane.'" He finished flatly.

House looked up at the ceiling and twisted her lips as if deep in thought. "Dunno, last night's kinda hazy." She looked over at him brightly. "_Sounds_ like me though. Were they described as unbelievably attractive and devilishly charming?"

"Try 'a menace to public safety, the reason the public have a view of an elitest health service'." Cuddy quoted dryly, leaning back on his desk and crossing brawny arms over a wide chest. He glared at her and might as well have been aiming the expression at a brick wall for all the difference it made.

"Hmm, maybe not me then. Seriously 'nowadays' is that what they're calling journalism?" She lent forward, snatched up the paper and flopped back into the chair. She scanned the article, chuckling occasionally when she found a word choice that amused her and then flipped it open to see the picture below the fold. "Ah, see, now that looks nothing like me. My ass looks nothing like that fat."

"The camera adds ten pounds." Icy toned.

"Really? How many you got on you right now?"

Thunderous glare.

"See? Now you're all constipated looking. It's all that roughage in that vegan fad you're on."

"There's nothing wrong with being a vegan…" Cuddy began and then shook his head sharply. Getting off track here. "Okay, let's start some damage control. Did anyone, aside from the local press I mean, see you hit the patient?"

"It wasn't me that hit him!"

Cuddy just looked at her, one brow raised.

"Really." House added when her first protestation of innocence was ignored.

"Oh, I believe you, though thousands wouldn't, that's why I'm going to dip into your legal budget and call the lawyers while you go off to the Clinic like a good girl and try and worm your way back into my good books." Cuddy strode across the office, pulled House to her feet and gently propelled her out the room. Sometimes being big enough and strong enough to make her physically leave his presence was about the only thing that keep him sane. Either that, or having long enough legs to outrun her.

"Now why would I want to be in your good books, worming or otherwise? My life is so much easier when everybody's expectations are lower." She went, though not willingly, he knew it was a token fuss that she was putting up and that she had not been in his office this early for any other reason than to warn him of the impending lawsuit.

For the third time this week.

"Your life is _also_ a lot easier when your parking spot is within three miles of the building." He smirked at her and she narrowed her eyes at him and then raised her voice loud enough to address the entire lobby.

"No! I told you, no blowjobs unless you have mouthwash and a spittoon!"

Cuddy just heaved a sigh at the startled glances from the patients, the eye rolls from the nurses and the barely suppressed snicker from his assistant.

House turned away from him and flounced away. Well, as much as a woman leaning heavily on a cane can flounce, her hand digging into her pocket and stopping short when she obviously found something there that she didn't expect.

Or rather, found something missing.

She turned and glared at him. He held up her black DS Lite and smiled at her, tucking the slim console into his inner jacket pocket and petting it there. He heard her low growl but she spun away again and limped off to clinic, buying him some time. He figured he had at least an hour before General Hospital reruns were finished and she got into more trouble with the patients…or nurses, or other doctors or anyone with a pulse.

Hell, so long as she didn't start shooting the dead again he was fine with just about anything.

**Sinister Scribe**

The door to Doctor Janine Wilson's office flew open and an ill-kempt figure rolled in. She moseyed straight to the desk, swiped a handful of the candies that Wilson kept there for her younger patients and flopped down onto the chair. Wilson eyed her with a barely repressed long suffering sigh. She kept her soft brown eyes studiously on her files. Silence reined for all of three seconds before it became too much for House.

"I'm bored."

"That's nice, go read a book, take a walk or, oh, I know! Do your job." Wilson signed the file, flipped it shut with one perfectly manicured hand and slid her attention to the next one. That was, before two sneakers slammed onto the desk under her nose, over the file and blocked her view. She looked along the length of House's long body and arched a dark brow.

"Entertain me."

"You know what would entertain _me_?" Wilson shoved House's feet roughly from her desk. "You going away. We'll play a game; you hide and I'll not seek."

"Meanie." House pouted and leaned forward to pick up a bubbled glass paperweight. She rolled it over her fingertips and toyed with the odd little sphere. "Cuddy wouldn't play with me and now neither will you."

"Cuddy has reason to be pissed at you, I don't know why he puts up with you so much."

"Gratuitous sexual favours." At Wilson's wince, House continued with a grin. "The wet kind."

"Okay….that was more than I ever needed to know."

"No it wasn't, I didn't tell you about his foot fetish yet." House's mouth formed into an 'oopsie' O and she put her fingers to her lips theatrically when Wilson's head snapped up at the heretofore unmentioned titbit.

"He does not have a foot fetish!"

"Have you seen the shoes he wears. Hand-stitched Italian leather, flown in from Roma itself. No normal guy has that many pairs of foot pimpage."

"You seem to know an awful lot about his shoes, sure he's the one with the fetish?" Wilson asked with a sly smile and knew she had her friend when the older woman scowled at her.

"I'm observant, something you might practice more often in order to stop yourself stinking of cologne that is decidedly not Rupert's."

"It's Reilly and you know it."

"Really? I lost track after husband number four."

Wilson's gaze narrowed, now no longer amused.

"Go and annoy your team."

"But they're boooooooring! And they don't know any good games either." House was settling into a good whine so Wilson cut her off while she could.

"I'll meet you for lunch if I get these files finished."

House tilted her head, eyes bright, thinking. "You'll pay?"

"Have you ever?"

"Point." House rose to her feet and limped for the door. "Well, on that note, I take my leave, ciao!"

She slipped away and was gone. Wilson shook her head, staring after her. Then lifted the collar of her shirt to have a quick sniff test.

Yep, definitely not Reilly's cologne.

**Sinister Scribe**

"Good morning, chickadees!"

The team jumped in unison when House appeared in the doorway and limped inside.

"What have we got for mommy this morning, then?" She ambled to the white board and slung the crook of her cane over the top of it, popping the top of the marker off and looking at them all expectantly. "Well?"

They launched into their pitches with a practiced ease and House shot them down with an equal grace. Cancer, bowel obstruction, don't care, bad case of the sniffles and, ooh, don't know. Finally, something interesting.

"You didn't finish your clinic hours."

House twisted around to see Cuddy lounging in the doorway to House's office. His broad shoulder hitched against the glass door and his big hands stuffed in his pockets. House let her gaze lazily travel the length of him, idling a little below his belt buckle and finally back up to his aristocratic face. Some might have said too harsh, and it would have been if the man's heart hadn't been bigger than his brain at times and shone through those oh-so pretty eyes of his.

The team abruptly found places elsewhere to be, recognising a domestic between the 'parents' blowing in when they saw it. Alistair Cameron halted in the doorway, casting a look at House but then earning a glare from Cuddy that sent the younger man scurrying.

House watched the interplay with a tweak of her lips. She was well aware of Cameron's 'crush' on her and had given up on hoping it would go away on its own and had instead resorted to humiliating the idealistic little twit about it at every turn. She felt a twinge of remorse on occasion, but it was usually drowned out by the reminder of how annoying his simpering could be if he thought he was a favourite.

"Oh, very alpha male, but if you're going to mark me as territory I'd much rather you bit me than pissed on me."

Cuddy rolled his eyes and then pushed away from the door to prowl over to her. House watched him coming and couldn't help but think about what a fine man he was, foot fetish or no. Taller even than her, broad on the shoulders, slim on the hips and flat on the washboard stomach and it wasn't just a six pack it was at least an eight. Oh yes, Lucas Cuddy was something to be lusted after for sure, but best not to let him know that too much.

"Could you at least pretend to behave, for a while?" Cuddy shrugged. "Just for a change of pace."

"And I would want to do that…why?" House moved past him, forcing him to double back on himself and follow her. She traipsed through to her office and swung into her chair, reaching to rattle her Vicodin out of her pocket and slapping her palm down on the chair arm when she remembered it wasn't there. His eyes caught on the motion but he knew better than to mention it. It was still a little bit of a sore subject between them.

Stupid bet.

Stupid her for agreeing to it.

Anyway…

"I spoke to the lawyers and since nobody actually _saw_ you 'cane' the Mr Gildings, it can all be explained away as circumstantial."

"I told you I didn't hit him."

"And I thought me going to the lawyers would mean that you wouldn't have to lie anymore."

House smirked. "Everybody lies." She mouthed the words more than said them but Cuddy glared at her all the same. She just loved to needle him too much to let it go. An irate Cuddy was an out of control Cuddy and when that happened…well, interesting things followed.

"Whatever, you owe me six hours."

"Four."

"I can count past five, it's six."

"If you could count past ten would it be eleven?"

Another glare.

"Gelding was a patient I dug up in clinic, he counts for two hours."

"_Gildings_ was a case you invented to get out of clinic. It's still six." Cuddy stuffed his hands in his pockets again and it had the momentary distraction of House dropping her gaze south of the equator again in pure feminine reaction before she could stop herself. She narrowed her eyes at him when she finally dragged them back up to his face but he appeared not to have noticed her attention leaving the conversation. "Do the six without arguing and I might not add more on for the newspaper."

"How benevolent of you." Sulky toned from the diagnostician.

"Yeah, I'm up for sainthood this afternoon."

"Should fit in with your new vow of celibacy." House snapped and something flashed behind Cuddy's eyes before he covered it with a confidant smirk.

"Uh-huh, like that would ever happen." He turned and waved two fingers at her as he strode out the office.

House glared after him and didn't know what was more annoying; the fact that she had just lost that argument or that Cuddy probably _would_ be getting lucky tonight despite her best efforts. She let her head flop back onto the head rest on the back of her chair.

Damn it.

**Sinister Scribe**

The bike rolled to a growling stop and House straightened back from the handlebars, kicking the stand down and letting the Harley Davidson, a restored antique, rest at an angle. She stripped off the helmet and loosened her hair, glad to have it out of the tight knot after the long day. She worked her fingers through it and swung, good leg first, from the bike. She pulled her cane from the straps over her backpack and tapped it against the pathway, ambling for home at her usual slow pace. She reached the door and jangled her key in the lock, opening it slowly and letting the warm light and soft music floating from the kitchen pour over her cold body.

She stripped off her jacket, dropped her bag and tossed aside her blazer in a steady trail of destruction leading from the door to the kitchen. Didn't matter, he'd clean up after her anyway, might as well give him something to do rather than leave him OCD-ing over nothing.

She found him with his back to her in the kitchen. She moved near silently, creeping up on him, ready to scare the bejesus out of him when…

He whirled on her, closed the distance between them in two strides, snatched her up off the floor and pinned her against the refrigerator with a low growl. His mouth took hers in a fierce kiss that she didn't even try to fight and focused instead on wrapping her legs around his hips more firmly, not as easy with her crippled limb but she twined that around his thigh with enough determination, and buried her fingers in his hair. His hips thrust against hers and she squirmed, heat pouring through her. Damn the man was good at this, that full mouth of his capable of everything and more that the nurses whispered about at the water cooler.

House would know, she'd started most of the rumours after first hand experience. Better they knew what they were missing, even as they knew he was all _hers._

"Been wanting to do that all day."

"What kept you?" She murmured on a gasp, his lips travelling down her throat, hand working the hem of her tee shirt up over her belly.

"You pissed me off this morning."

"I like it when you're pissed off it gets you – ah!" She cut off on a sharp cry when his fingers teased her bra out of the way and twisted a nipple. She'd never been one for lacy girly things before, but occasionally, she wore the stuff he bought for her, just to hear his low growl of approval at moments like this. "Gets you creative." She finished on a pant.

A sharp wail tore through the house and they both froze. House wriggled to be free.

"Don't she might…"

Another cry, this one longer and more insistent.

Cuddy growled again, this time in frustration and let her down from the wall, retrieving her cane for her as she pulled down her shirt and straightened herself out. She took her pimp stick, made a quick promise of a biblical I.O.U. and hobbled away.

She steered easily through the house, through the lounge past her baby grand, guitars and messy corner, down the hallway past the myriad of family photographs lining the walls – her, Cuddy, Wilson, even some of the team…though she'd never let them know it – past their bedroom and onto the spacious yellow room beyond. A rare true smile curved her mouth with warmth instead of cool cynicism and she crossed the room to the decidedly unhappy occupant.

Aubrey Jett House stood in her crib, 'not happy' expression on her face and little hands holding onto her prison bars to keep her little body upright. She brightened considerably upon seeing her mother and held out those same tiny hands to be lifted, in a way she knew her mother was helpless to resist. House obliged without a second thought and cuddled the baby close.

"Hey, you." She kissed her daughter's dark curls and bounced her on her lean hip. "Daddy leave you all on your lonesome? Silly daddy." House limped her way carefully over to the couch in the corner and sat down on it, settling Aubrey with her. The child, being her mother's daughter, was content now that she had her way and settled into a half doze without further prompting.

A small sound, almost like the clearing of a throat, alerted House to the presence of another, she lifted her head to see a toddler standing in the doorway, the light from the hallway casting him in silhouette. He had a hold of the collar of his flannel pyjamas with one small hand and a tattered bear with an equally battered stethoscope and stained half mended labcoat trailed on the floor at his side. House held out her hand wordlessly and the boy scampered across the carpet, nearly tripping in his eagerness to get there, and burrowed into her side.

"Hey, baby, you should be in bed too."

"Shouldn't we all?" This wry and from her husband. Cuddy crossed the room, his lean mass causing a warm feeling to swell in House's chest. She tried to keep telling herself that it was indigestion but she was enough to know that as long as Lucas Cuddy kept looking at her like that, her symptoms weren't going anywhere. "Come on, sport." Cuddy bent and lifted Logan away, replacing their son at her side and settling the boy on his lap. Logan squirmed between them and was only satisfied when he took up enough space on both parent's laps. Though infinitely less temperamental than Aubrey, Logan had the House eyes, the Cuddy hair and both their stubborn streaks, resulting in one wilful little boy when he wanted to be.

Cuddy's arm draped across her shoulders and House thought back to how it all began. With one bet. One bet that she didn't have the courage to do anything that Cuddy dared her to. She had scoffed at him, told him to bring it on, she could take anything he could dish out.

The bet?

Simple, she couldn't not fall in love with him.

"How did you know?" House didn't lift her eyes from their sleepy children but she knew that Cuddy had a fair idea what she was talking about. "About me not being able to not love you?"

"Oh, that?" His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair. "Easy."

This time she did look up at him, he smirked at her with that smile he always had when he was right, the first thing she'd fallen for incidentally.

"You were already in love with me. The rest is just bonus."

House knew that family man Lucas didn't view his children or his wife as 'just' anything so she just twisted her lips in a self deprecating smirk and stroked Aubrey's hair, leaning her own into her husband's grasp.

Stupid bet.

Lucky her.


End file.
